


Pushing Daisies

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Backstory, Developing Relationship, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partners to Lovers, Rating May Change, Reapers, obnoxious flower metaphors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only reason they were born was to meet each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Use Crying Over Spilt Peppermint Tea

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finally posting it! Thank you to everyone who read this--and there were a lot of you--but especially...
> 
> Thank you to somebodyslight, with whom I could not have written this monstrous fic. SL is one of the reasons I'm ever able to finish _anything_ , so thanks broseph. I'm gon' stop before I get all fuckin' teary-eyed and shit.

It's a dreary dull Monday, and Alan is half-asleep as he walks into the office. He's a full half hour early, as he always is, but it's his favorite time of the day since he has a spell to himself to drink his tea, stare out the window, and wake up.

He's slowly learning his new mentor's routine. Eric is never early, but he's also _never_ late. He usually looks a bit hung over, but perks up once he's had his coffee and gets his portion of the To Die List. 

But Alan has not been able to discern whether or not Eric actually likes his job. It's a strange thing. The other seniors that Alan's met—Senior Sutcliff, who seems to enjoy everything that involves blood; and Senior Spears, a suit that's no longer even in Collections—both have their preferences rather clearly outlined. In fact, it's almost comedic that it's the law and lawless pitted against each other.

Alan has only gathered this from a distance though, due to the fact that is too terrified to even speak to Grell Sutcliff.

Interesting fact he learns: Grell was Eric's mentor.

Interesting, but not very helpful in discerning any of Eric’s inner machinations. He's oddly philosophical at random times, callous at others, but generally helpful when he can be.

Alan has never met anyone like Eric before. He's also many things Alan is not: charming, suave, and a womanizer.

Alan knows how to have a good time; he knows how to have a laugh, make friends (although more acquaintances than friends), ingratiate himself into a group when necessary. He was forced to learn during his time as a student in Birmingham, since there was little else to do except socialize within the class or study. Alan did a lot of studying, but finally he made a few friends. 

They're all back where he started though, and since he graduated first in his class with a triple A average, they shipped him off to London.

Every reaper that reaches the Grim Reaper Dispatch Association wants to be assigned to the London division— _“You're asking me why? Because it's bloody London, Humphries!”_ — as one of his more familiar acquaintances had astutely explained.

Alan, on the other hand, would have been very happy to stay where he was.

But back to Eric... yes, Eric Slingby. 

Alan puts his head in his hand where he's sitting at his mentor's desk, dreamily staring out the window and sipping peppermint tea, when it becomes very apparent that it's well past the day's start time.

"Makin' yourself at home already, I see?" comes a familiar, deep voice.

Alan jumps up, knocking his teacup over, which immediately spills over all the forms he'd finished the night before.

"I'm sorry, senior!" he stammers, fumbling around for a serviette. "I was just... finishing the forms and..."

"Humphries, stop calling me that. We've been through this," Eric says, but he's got a small smile on his face, and much to Alan's chagrin, it is very obvious that he's entertained by the entire situation.

He calmly reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a pile of serviettes that he blots over the forms. Alan knows he's as red as a turnip.

"I already told you that you can sit here," Eric says patiently. "No need to reap yourself over it." He smells the air and raises an eyebrow. "Terrible waste of peppermint tea. That smells rather nice."

Alan also realizes he's forgotten to get Eric's coffee.

Now, most might conclude that Eric is cruel, forcing Alan to get his coffee. Alan is in training for junior reaper, not his personal assistant. In fact, a few of the girls that had been Eric's latest victims of philandering had seen Alan in the tea break room one morning.

"What a terrible one he is," she had said, "making this nice lad act as if he's a butler."

"How true," the second girl had agreed, sipping her own tea and shaking her head, "Eric Slingby is a cold one."

Alan hadn't said a word, unknowing of how to even begin to navigate London's social waters (and better off for it, as the London division is known for its love of gossip), and just shrugged with a bashful half smile.

It at least had won their approval since he was "so very darling."

Sometimes, Alan resents the fact that he's rather diminutive in stature and has what have been described to him as "delicate features." Bloody delicate features his arse. But better to keep his mouth shut and nod along to appease two preening, condescending gossips than be drawn into their web.

The truth though is that it was Alan who insisted on retrieving Eric's coffee every morning, in the same way that he's done everything he can think of to win Eric’s approval.

It all started with that bloody first reap. And the crying.

Alan still wakes up sick at night over it. His first real reap, and of all people, he has to cry in front of his _mentor._

It's the stress finally taking its toll, he knows, but of all times and places...

So, ever since, he's been at Eric's beck and call of his own volition.

"Humphries," Eric is saying, snapping his fingers in front of Alan's face, "are you all right, mate? Did you have a bit of bad... squash, or whatever it is you put yourself to bed at night with?"

Alan has been so lost in his own anxious thoughts that Eric's been speaking to him and he hasn't even realized. Eric looks genuinely baffled.

_I don't drink bloody squash. And I don't always go to bed early._

Even in Alan's mind, it sounds pathetic.

"I'm sorry, I'll fetch your coffee!" he says.

"Bloody hell... _don't_ ," Eric groans, and Alan's eyes widen as he stops where he is. "Alan," he starts (Alan knows it's bad when Eric calls him by his first name), "are you always this jumpy?"

"Well..." Alan says, debating about whether to be honest.

"Just be honest. Spare me, lad."

"No," he says, looking down.

Eric sighs. "Come on," he says in an exasperated voice, leading Alan to the tea break room.

When they're inside, Eric closes the door behind them, and puts on the kettle.

"Now, what's up?" he says bluntly, crossing his arms to look at Alan expectantly.

Alan studies him for a moment. Eric is possibly the most unprofessional looking reaper he's ever seen: upturned shirt collar, open shirt, loose tie with a rather _fitted_ white shirt, tucked into just as fitted trousers held up by a white belt, tall and lanky and downright lackadaisical in posture, and that hairstyle... the list just goes on. 

And... rather handsome, all things considered. (Alan adds that last observation to a list of things he never wants to think about again.)

Alan also knows that Eric is widely respected, has mentored many juniors before him, and is well liked regardless of his philandering. He's easy to get along with.

He hazards a look at Eric, and Eric looks nothing short of sympathetic. It's clear that he really wants to know.

"Well," Alan says meekly, trying not to fidget with his tie, "after that... first reap..."

He swallows hard, so mortified he can't even finish.

"Well, it's not that I cry all the time!" he finally blurts out. He looks up at Eric with what he knows is a wild-eyed expression. "It was just... well, you know, after being transferred and everything was a bit mad. And it will never happen again!"

The kettle is whistling, but Alan can barely even hear it over his babbling.

"You didn't make a mistake in deciding to mentor me, I promise," he says, gesturing wildly, as if he can convince Eric that way. "I just—"

He's interrupted in his tirade by a steaming cup being pushed into his hands.

"Careful," Eric says calmly, sipping at his own cup, "it's hot."

Alan clamps his mouth shut and smells the drink; it's peppermint tea.

"Have a sip," Eric says encouragingly, "it's nice."

Alan just stares at him, looks down at the tea, back up at Eric, and then can't seem to come to any other conclusion other than to do as asked.

He takes a sip; yes, it is good. Peppermint, his favorite. It's familiar... and everything here is so strange... and... he just made a fool out of himself _again_ in front of Eric.

Oh no. Not again.

Alan can feel his eyes burning, and Eric makes a disapproving sound.

"Don't do it, Humphries," he warns. "Drink your damn tea and don't start blubbering."

After a moment and a hard swallow, Alan lets out a sound. Instead of a sob, though, it’s a laugh.

Eric looks at him with a happily surprised expression on his face, and he laughs, too.

"Listen, mate," Eric says as their laughter dies down, and goes so far as to put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "Cry on your own time. I don't mind what you do, and I won't judge you for it. Just do your reaps right, work hard, and you'll be alright. Don't you worry. You're quite good."

Alan just stares at him with wide eyes, and then nods his head as if in a trance.

"You really think I'm good?" he asks.

Eric laughs and rolls his eyes. "Oh, I see. Now you want your ego stroked," he says, shaking his head.

Just as Alan opens his mouth to deny it, Eric grins at him.

"You're having me on," he guesses. Eric nods, smiling, and finishes his tea.

"Just relax," Eric says, "and you'll do fine. But you have to trust me, or else I can't teach you anything. So just... stop being all... nervous," he says, gesturing vaguely at Alan's entire person, "or whatever it is you want to call it."

Alan nods and takes a deep breath.

"Alright," he agrees.

"And _please_ ," Eric groans, "enough with the bloody coffee."

Alan smiles a little, and laughs again. 

From that day forward, Eric gets them both peppermint tea in the morning, Alan stops worrying so much about coffee, and William T. Spears sends back a stack of forms citing that scented and stained papers are unacceptable final report submissions.


	2. An Illicit Living Herbaceous Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something unexpected pops up in the office one day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Male pronouns for Grell here because Eric's POV.

Normally, the London Division sticks to three topics of gossip: who's shagging who, what terrible thing Grell has done lately, or any particularly interesting reaps.

Every once in a while, though, something juicy comes along that they all sink their teeth into like a demon after a tasty soul. 

And this week, something has arisen—someone has brought a living plant to the office and placed it nondescriptly on a window sill.

Of course, as always, Grell had been the first to notice it as he walked into the Collections office (Will had punished Grell years before by forcing him out of a private office and into the pit), stopped in his tracks and uttered a dramatic gasp that was genuinely shocked enough to make Eric look up.

"What _is_ that ghastly _thing_?!" he had shrieked, pointing at the plant as though it were a bad haircut. "Who brought a filthy _living_ creature onto our plane?"

Ironically, it's a well known fact that Grell spends much of his time in the living world, and yet is the loudest complainer about its filth. 

In Eric's mind, Grell is the equivalent of a human socialite who doesn't admit to slumming it.

"What?" Eric asks, emerging from his office.

"That thing, Eric! Where did it come from?" Grell shrieks louder now that he has an audience, clutching his hands to his chest dramatically. He flips his hair so that it streams out behind him as he turns away, one hand held up as if blocking some deadly aura the plant is radiating. "No, my darling, better yet, _who_ brought that terrible thing here?"

Eric gives Grell an unimpressed look, and he rolls his eyes.

"You're no fun, Eric. How dull. Being a senior has gone to your head, I'm afraid."

Eric just grunts dismissively and walks back into his office.

But the plant ordeal, or what comes be known as the “Illicit Living Herbaceous Affair” by dinner, does not die with Grell's disinterest in Eric's response.

By the time Eric is in the canteen, everyone is murmuring about the plant and its mystery owner. Most have their noses upturned, vowing to never again speak to the perpetrator with such grotesque taste as to bring a living thing onto the Reaper plane as ornament, much less to the Dispatch office.

Honestly, Eric could care less about the plant. It's a bit odd, but it's a plant. It's alive. It's green. In fact, it's rather small.

He wishes Alan was here around so he had someone to gripe at about how daft all of their coworkers are, but Alan's been delayed checking their scythes back into General after the morning reaps. Eric had promised to get him a dollop of bread pudding and save him a seat, though.

"I think the offender should be sacked," one particularly unforgiving junior whispers to his friend who nods in agreement.

"What's next?" someone else asks in a hushed voice. "Are we to have living human beings working in the office, too? It starts with plants, and then it ends with all sorts of other riff-raff entering our plane!"

"Yes!" someone interjects more loudly, joining the panic. "What's next? Demons at reception? Angels staffing the library?"

The instigators sit down at a table, and are soon joined by so many other staff members that Eric doesn't even need to save Alan a seat.

Eric likes a good bit of gossip as much as the next, but this is just ridiculous.

Finally, to his relief, Alan walks through the doorway unnoticed by the rabble, and sees Eric. Eric points to his plate and grins, and Alan makes his way over eagerly to sit down.

"Cheers," he says, and then digs into the bread pudding enthusiastically. Alan is rather slim, but he can probably eat his weight in bread pudding.

There's enough noise coming from the table teeming with outrage, though, that his food nirvana is interrupted.

"What's going on?" he asks, raising his eyebrows to look at the crowd in surprise.

Eric rolls his eyes and idly chews on a piece of lamb.

"They're out for blood. Whoever brought in that silly plant is about to be crucified, once they find out who it was."

Alan just raises an eyebrow, and keeps eating without comment.

"I mean," Eric continues, pushing his fork around his veg, "it's a silly thing to kick up such a fuss about. It's just a bloody _plant_. But... it is a strange thing to do."

He frowns and then shrugs dismissively.

"No matter," he says finally as he looks up at Alan.

And Alan, who is usually very good at hiding his thoughts, is positively beet red.

"Tell me you didn't," Eric says flatly.

Alan grunts.

"Tell me you bloody well didn't," Eric repeats.

"I didn't," Alan replies.

"I don't believe you."

"You probably shouldn't."

"Oh, bloody hell, Humphries, what's gotten into your head?" Eric hisses. 

He darts a glance over at the frenzy of reapers and General staff who've begun to raise their fists and clap each other on the back in congratulatory shared bloodlust.

"I just thought..." Alan says softly, and Eric looks at him in surprise, "I don't know." He says staring down at the table, his cheeks still burning. "I like plants... and flowers. I didn't think of it as something _living_... they're just nice."

Eric sighs.

"You didn't know," he says quietly. "And... well, it's not as if it matters, but I think they're being a right lot of prats."

"You what, Slingby?" says another reaper who's suddenly standing near them.

"I _said_ ," Eric announces, rising to stand at his full height, "I think you all are being a bunch of _prats_."

Eric's voice is rather voluminous through the canteen, and he's now staring _down_ at the shorter Reaper who'd had the gall to approach them with the accusation

The Reaper in question backs away cautiously, and everyone pauses. Eric is generally respected, and when it comes down to it, everyone's always just a bit more suspicious of his capacity to snap, if only based on the fact that he was mentored by Grell.

"Well, then," Eric practically shouts, "does anyone have anything else to say?"

No one says anything.

"You bleeding tossers go on with your witch hunt then. I've said my piece," he says, and sits down to finish his meal.

A subtle murmuring starts, which includes, _let him have a strop_ and _Slingby's a pillock_ , but no one else approaches them and Eric seems to be shut out of the entire ordeal now.

" _I_ know someone that likes flowers more than even myself," Grell says, practically appearing out of nowhere.

Alan blanches and looks positively terrified, and Eric rolls his eyes.

"Do be a gentleman and make room for a lady," Grell sniffs. Eric slides over so Grell can sit down, which he does, after laying a red handkerchief out on the seat and perching on it daintily.

Grell makes a disgusted sound when he surveys what Eric and Alan are eating, and refuses to touch the table.

"How repulsive," he says disdainfully, lifting his nose. "Well then, Alan, what a dear boy you are. Keeping Mr. Slingby in line, I see?"

Alan hazards a look up at Grell, his face paralyzed in fear.

"Oh, what's he been telling you then?" Grell laughs lightly. "I'm not so terrible. I adore being in the company of handsome gentlemen," he says, but then looks around at the canteen again with obvious disgust, "regardless of the... surroundings."

"What are you on about, Sutcliff?"

"Well," Grell says, folding his gloved hands in his lap and adjusting himself primly, "all I said was that I know someone who adores flowers even more than I."

Eric clears his throat and Alan starts to blush again.

"Who?"

Grell raises an eyebrow, looks at Alan, and then back at Eric. Eric fixes Grell with a blank, disinterested stare in return and takes a casual bite of his veg.

"Am I to understand that you're protecting him? Like a knight in shining armor?" Grell squeals, clutching his hands together. "Oh, how romantic!"

Thankfully, no one is brave enough to even try and listen in on Grell's conversation, especially if he's with Eric, and no attention is paid to them.

"He's not defending me," Alan says through gritted teeth.

"Oh! So the little bird has a chirp," Grell says condescendingly. "Do continue."

"I can defend myself," Alan says, growing a little braver.

"Shut it, Alan," Eric growls.

"Ooh, lover's tiff?" Grell croons.

"Well, it's true!" Alan insists. "I'm not a... little bird."

"Are you afraid of me, Alan, dear?"

"Yes!" Alan exclaims in a high pitched voice.

"And yet you still chirp. How delicious. Well, you're quite a find. Carry on then."

Grell gets up and leaves with a swish of his coat and long hair, strutting out of the canteen self-righteously.

"I...was that..."

"He likes you," Eric says. "Well, as much as Grell can 'like' anyone."

"He's _terrifying_ ," Alan breathes, his eyes wide.

"There's a reason he's shagging Spears. I don't know who else could manage it."

"I thought that was a rumor," Alan replies, more wide-eyed.

Eric snorts, and dreads to see what lies in store for them.

= = =

The Collections pit is so packed that Eric can barely slide past to reach his office, and the entire staff is gathered around the window sill. There's a din of discussion as the entirety of the bloody London Division is trying to figure out what to do with the plant.

"I say someone reaps it!" one idiotic junior declares gleefully.

Eric steps into his office doorway to watch the ridiculous spectacle.

"No!" says another, "I say we find out who brought it, and reap _them_!"

There's a cheer that erupts from the crazed mob, and then someone else asks, "But we still haven’t figured out who it was... "

Alan has disappeared into Eric's office and is sitting in the furthest corner he can away from the door.

There's a din of discussion, until suddenly, one brilliant tosser blurts out, "Where's Alan Humphries? I haven‘t seen him since this morning."

Alan waves his hand around, appearing suddenly at Eric's side.

"I'm here!" he says agreeably. "What do you need?"

The Reaper in question—a senior Eric particularly dislikes after being in the same graduating class—approaches and gives Alan a suspicious look.

"What do you know about gardening?"

"Uh," Alan stutters, but then recomposes himself quickly. "Nothing... I suppose?"

"That's a lie!" one of the General Affairs girls cries. "I saw him wearing a corsage the other day!"

Eric snorts in amusement. 

"You were wearing a bloody corsage?" he asks under his breath.

"It was _not_ a corsage!" Alan retorts, and then gets more self-righteous. "It was a memorial for the fallen Reapers from my home city!" 

That pushes them back a bit, until the same girl asks, "Well, if it wasn't a corsage, then what was it?"

And Alan—being himself and refusing to yield when he knows he's right—blurts out, "Well, it was a bloody chrysanthemum, now wasn't it? Not an herb like that plant on the sill!"

It's like watching a carriage wreck in slow motion.

"Humphries brought it!" several crazed staff cry at the same time. "Send him to Purgatory! Someone reap him!"

"It's mine!" Eric interjects with a shout.

That brings the rabble to a standstill, and everyone turns to stare at Eric in shock.

"It's mine," he repeats, standing his ground. "I, uh, like plants."

“Yeah?" someone retorts bravely. "Then what type is it?"

"It's an... herb," he finishes lamely.

Everyone looks at Alan.

"Is it an herb?" someone asks.

"Are you _taking the piss?_ " Alan cries. His outrage goes ignored.

"Well, it doesn't matter. If it’s your plant, Slingby, we're reaping you!"

That breaks the crowd into factions, as most of General Affairs seems to magically vanish.

"Reap the plant first!"

"Don't reap the plant!" Alan shouts balefully. 

" _What_ is going on here?"

Everyone freezes. This time, no one speaks.

Alan turns his anguished gaze past Eric to stare, and Eric does, too.

And there is William T. Spears, standing in the entrance of the pit glaring. 

Glaring. 

Will glaring always means trouble.

" _Everyone_ return to their posts _immediately_ ," he says. He doesn't even raise his voice, and he adjusts his glasses; just the action makes everyone shy back.

"Should I find anyone remaining in this office, near that plant in the next quarter hour, you shall be duly dismissed and demoted to reception in Purgatory. Now _disperse_."

No one questions it, and within five minutes, the office is empty, save the reapers that belong in the pit.

"Oh, _Eric_ ," Grell sings. Eric turns to Grell with a long suffering expression, and Alan jumps as he discovers Grell behind them. "I expect you at my flat at eight with roses and champagne."

And with that, Grell dances away in the direction of Will’s office; Eric is already planning on what type of chocolates to bring. He owes Grell big for this, and he knows it.

"What just happened?" Alan squeaks from behind him, interrupting his thoughts.

Eric turns to look at him in exasperation and scowls. 

"Bring the bloody plant in here," is all he says. Alan flushes and goes to retrieve his precious plant.

He sets it on Eric's desk, closes the door, and sits down in the chair against the wall to stare at the floor.

"Smells like peppermint," Eric observes, bending to smell the herb.

"It is peppermint," Alan says softly, the portrait of misery.

"It's not your fault," Eric says more kindly. "You didn't know."

"What's wrong with _plants_?" Alan cries suddenly, his face rather anguished. Eric's eyes widen, and he realizes suddenly this goes past a plant on a window sill.

"Well," Eric starts patiently, "they're alive."

"So?"

"I don't know. It's just not done."

"Well, I _like_ living things," Alan admits, and then bites his lip. "I like flowers," he says very quietly.

There it is: that raw thing.

Eric stands up and puts a hand on Alan's shoulder, patting it awkwardly.

"Come on, buck up," he says. "I don't mind it. It's just... generally not done. But I've nothing against flowers. Do you remember those ones we saw on your first reap? That was brilliant. Never seen anything like that."

"I suppose," Alan says, sulking.

"The plant can stay in here," Eric declares finally, "and anyone that has a problem can speak to me directly."

"Alright," Alan whispers. "I'm sorry, Eric."

"Why?" Eric asks in surprise, not expecting the apology.

"For all the trouble, over a silly thing like a plant."

Eric shakes his head, and crouches down to look Alan in the face.

"It's not silly," he says simply.

The words are so much more complicated suddenly than Eric ever even intended; and the expression on Alan's face only adds to it.

His quiet, somber response of, "All right," is very simple.

But the way he looks at Eric hesitantly, as if he wants to trust him but isn't sure, is not simple.

"Can we make the leaves into tea?" Eric says, trying to get a smile out of Alan.

That seemingly lifts him out of the gulch he's dragged himself into, and he nods enthusiastically.

"We can, actually! I'll show you how."

Eric listens to the entire explanation, and finds himself grinning rather widely by the end of it as Alan twiddles a peppermint leaf between his thumb and forefinger, giving a relaxed smile in return.

Tea time will never be the same.


End file.
